


Hands

by epeeblade



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Episode Related, M/M, Tahiti is a Magical Place, clint is the cellist, episode coda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 03:12:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epeeblade/pseuds/epeeblade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of his discovery about the truth of his recovery, Phil remembers something very important.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Serious spoilers for this week's episode of Agents of SHIELD (The Magical Place.) Please avoid if you haven't seen the episode!
> 
> Thanks to Lapillus for reading an early version of this.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

Hands. Delicate, purposeful hands, slowly maneuvering a bow across the strings of a cello.

The image shifted. The hands morphed as he watched. They became scarred, no longer delicate, but still just as skilled and purposeful, stringing a large recurve bow.

Phil stopped watching. Because he could feel those hands on him now. Familiar calloused fingers stroked his skin, trailing a line down his spine, cupping his buttocks in a firm grip.

He awoke with a start, hard with the intensity of the dream. But realization soaked over him, dousing his arousal just as quickly as it had begun.

Because the cellist was a cover. She had always been a cover. No one at SHIELD knew the truth, and both he and Barton had been too good at their jobs to ever let the truth of their relationship slip. 

Phil threw the sheets off and started to pace the room. When they put his brain back together, they’d done it wrong, implanting memories of a woman who didn’t exist. Clint used to smirk whenever Phil brought her up, especially when he used to go on about the way she used a bow. 

So the clairvoyant wasn’t truly all-knowing then, or else Raina would have known…

He stopped his pacing. Had there been a glint in her eyes as Raina taunted him? Had she known the truth when she told him the cellist had cried for days after Phil’s death?

It was hard to breathe. 

Phil grasped his chest as he made his way across the room the comms. “May? Reroute us to New York City, asap.”

“New mission?”

“Something like that.”

***

Had Nick expected him to be grateful? Phil had been prepared to die. He knew the stakes, and when weighed against the fate of the world, what was his life?

Clint would have disagreed. 

Phil sat in front of his laptop with Barton’s file open. At least that hadn’t been restricted from his view. Why should it? No one had any idea of what Barton had meant to him. 

Had Clint really cried for days after learning about Phil’s death? He couldn’t imagine Clint crying at all. Clint used to tease Phil, because Phil never failed to cry during sappy movies, although he admitted that his own interpretation of sappy might not meet anyone else’s. 

He clicked through the file. Intellectually he’d known Clint had been freed of Loki’s control after Phil’s death, but back then he hadn’t remembered…

Hadn’t cared.

“God damn it.” Phil slammed his fist on the table. His hands were trembling. He had to hold it together. That was the only way he was going to be able to see Clint again.

It was the only thing keeping him upright.

“You’d lost your will to live.” The doctor had said.

Of course he had. He’d lost Clint, lost the memory of the person who brought color to his world. The man who’d held him when Phil had broken down in grief at his mother’s death. The man who made him smile. The man who brought him to such heights of desire that it transcended just fucking.

_Clint._

“We’re approaching New York City. Where did you want me to set her down?” May said over the comms.

“Nowhere. I need to you to hover in the vicinity of Stark Tower. I’m taking Lola out for a ride.”

There was silence over the comms, but she hadn’t closed the connection. Phil rubbed his forehead. “No, I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

The Avengers weren’t supposed to know he was alive. Phil had accepted that, because he trusted the system. Besides, what did it mean to them, really, to know that the balding, middle aged agent who’d brought them together was still alive? They were superheroes. He was just...Phil.

Everything had changed. Now he knew, and he couldn’t imagine not finding Clint and begging for his forgiveness and maybe his help. Clint might be able to make the nightmares go away. They’d always been in the shadows, a pleasant memory of Tahiti - it’s a magical place - that seemed so sinister. But now Phil knew and he couldn’t hide from the truth any longer.

He heard a huff of breath down the comm line. That was practically a declaration from Melinda. “I’ll use the radar cloak,” he promised. The last thing he needed was to be shot out of the sky. “No one will even know I am there.” Except the one person he needed to talk to. 

“We’ll be in position in fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you.”

***

Barton’s files had said he’d taken an apartment in Stark Tower. Phil read between the lines, and could see that Barton and Romanoff had been encouraged to do so to keep an eye on the rest of the group. That probably explained why Stark had fucked off to Malibu. Still, the duty roster had Clint off the rotation for another few days, so this was Phil’s best chance of catching him at home, outside of any SHIELD headquarters.

Phil decided to go through the front door. He paid the exorbitant fee to park Lola in the tower’s public parking deck - and really, Stark should be ashamed of himself, he had more than enough money - before walking into the lobby. 

His shoes echoed against the polished marble flooring. He tried to focus on that, on the large mahogany information desk he was approaching. Anything to keep the words out of his head.

_You were dead for days._

Maybe Barton wouldn’t even want to be with a zombie. Phil felt the laughter bubble up, and he knew if he didn’t get a handle on himself he’d go hysterical and they’d cart him away. 

“May I help you, sir?” The receptionist who addressed him was a perky thing with short dark hair wearing a button that said ‘I survived the battle of Manhattan.’

The rays of the afternoon sun shined through the large glass walls. That would be a security concern, if Phil didn’t know it was reinforced bullet-proof glass. The light was fucking with his system, since it had been ‘night’ on the bus when he’d requested Melinda make the course change. “I’m here to see a friend of mine in the personal apartments. 360B. I’m unexpected, but can you please tell him Roger Haggar is here to see him?”

Clint would know the name. Haggar had been the writer of the Captain America comics during Phil’s favorite story arc. He’d talked about it again and again, and honestly didn’t think Clint had been listening until their first anniversary when a rare autographed copy had made it’s way to Phil’s office desk. 

His mouth went dry. He needed to see Clint. 

“Just a moment.” She tapped her headpiece and turned aside.

Phil stepped away and wiped sweating palms on his pants. This was ridiculous. He should have flown outside Clint’s window and then…

What? Get shot down by JARVIS? Or worse - Clint himself? 

“Sir!?” The receptionist shouted to get his attention. Phil turned back. “He’ll be right down. You can wait over there.” She pointed to a lobby area with plush red and gold chairs. 

_Stark._ Still, the decor made Phil smile as he sat. He fisted his hands on his lap and forced himself to be still. Any moment Clint would come down, and he had to be prepared.

“You could have called first.”

Phil had been staring so hard at the bank of elevators, that when the voice came from behind him he nearly jumped out of his shoes. He pushed himself to his feet and turned around, heart hammering in his chest. 

_Clint._ God, he looked good, all tanned and well-muscled beneath the tight lavender t-shirt. It looked soft, and Phil wanted to run his hands all over it. But most of all, he tried to hold the gaze of those multicolored eyes. “I wasn’t sure you’d believe it was me.”

“I’m not really sure it is you.” Clint stuck his hands in his jean pockets, but Phil wasn’t foolish enough to believe he wasn’t armed. 

“Budapest,” Phil blurted. “Kabul. Mexico City. Rio. Ask me about any of those.”

Clint looked away, and Phil wondered what his intense vision had caught. “I don’t need to. I called Sitwell. He confirmed it.”

“But that still doesn’t mean I’m me.” Phil wanted to step closer, to breathe in Clint’s scent and know he was alive. “When they put me back together, they left out you.”

Clint’s head shot up sharply. “What?”

“That stupid cover story.” Phil had never hated it before now. It was funny, a joke. It had nearly ruined everything. “They made me think she was real.”

“Phil?”

“Clint, they messed with my head.” Phil took a step forward. He needed to be close to Clint right now. “I only remembered us…” he checked his watch, “An hour ago? I would have called you, I swear.”

“Phil.” Clint cupped his hands around Phil’s face and pulled him in close for a kiss. His lips were so soft, and warm, and Phil never wanted to stop kissing him. “You taste like you.”

Phil groaned. “We shouldn’t do this in Stark’s lobby.”

Clint laughed, though it was choked off. “I have a feeling there’s a long story behind this.” He took one of Phil’s hands in his, the familiar callouses brushing against Phil’s palm and centering him.

“You’d be right.” 

“I can’t..” Clint swallowed. “I need to be touching you right now.” He hadn’t stepped away from Phil. They were so close Phil could feel the heat coming off of his body. 

“Okay. Can we … go upstairs?” Phil gestured to the elevators.

“This way.” Clint tugged him away. “Stark set up express ones for us. Nobody else knows they exist.”

Phil followed him - or rather, he was pulled along - through what looked to be a solid brick wall. Trust Stark to think of something so simple. Their fingers were laced together, and the physical contact alone cured the jackhammering of Phil’s heart. 

“Welcome back, Agent Coulson.” A familiar voice greeted as Phil stepped onto the secret elevator.

“Thank you, JARVIS.” Phil smiled. He felt good. He felt alive.

“Take us to my apartment, please, JARVIS.” Clint nuzzled at Phil’s neck, his breath warm. “You smell like you.”

Phil swallowed. "I know. But, Clint, SHIELD did things to me. I need you, I need you to tell me I’m okay.”

To his horror he could feel himself breaking down. The tears formed no matter how hard Phil tried to blink them back. He’d been tortured, for fuck’s sake, and had managed to hold it together. Maybe now, now that he was safe, Phil could give in to panic.

“I got you,” Clint was murmuring, holding Phil close, running his hands down Phil’s back in soothing motions. “We’ll figure this out. Trust me.”

Phil closed his eyes. He could finally breathe.


End file.
